


Coming In From The Cold

by Odette



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ant-Man (2015) Post-Credits Scene, Gen, Homelessness, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Minor Drug Use, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Some fighting, Winter Soldier vs Who the hell is Bucky?, i hate writing tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odette/pseuds/Odette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Till the end of the line. I'll be with you, till the end of the line."<br/>It resounded in his head since his target told him this.<br/>His mission appeared to know him.<br/>How could he?<br/>And yet, he recognised his target too.<br/>He didn't know what instinct it was that drove him to dive after the man and drag him to shore. He would have completed his mission if he had let him drown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming In From The Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my bad ass friend Rhea because well I could  
> I used Ed Brubaker's Captain America Winter Soldier as a reference. No beta so any mistakes are mine. I don't own the characters and I have to stop listening to Muse's latest album

This wasn't the first time he'd gotten away from his handlers. In fact it was the third time.

The first time he had gotten away was only short lived. But the second time had lasted longer and he remembered more from a life that seemed familiar, yet alien. This third time would be different.

***

"Till the end of the line. I'll be with you, till the end of the line."

It resounded in his head since his target told him this.

His mission appeared to know him.

How could he?

And yet, he recognised his target too.

He didn't know what instinct it was that drove him to dive after the man and drag him to shore. He would have completed his mission if he had let him drown.

  


He left his target alive on the shore and wandered off confused. His good arm hurt and he was tired of today's events.

 _Shelter, I need shelter,_ he thought.

After half an hour he found a dilapidated building which seemed to have been a hotel, once upon a time long ago. He explored the building on the outside. It was three stories high and wasn't attached to another building. Most of the windows of the building were boarded up. Near the front were a few windows that had lost their boarding. He stood on some crates and peered though one of the windows into the small lobby. The only way to enter the building was through one of the broken windows.

He crawled in clumsily with his metal arm while keeping his good arm close to his body. His pant leg caught on a nail and ripped the fabric. He lay still on the dusty and debris filled floor for a few seconds to check whether someone had heard him. His hand instinctively reached for the knife in his boot.

No one came.

He got up, still on alert. He looked around and tried to control his breathing.

Time so see if there was anyone in the building. On the left side of the lobby were the stairs. A large dining hall contained long tables which were  arranged haphazardly . There were broken chairs was on the right at the top of the stairs. On the other side was an office and the kitchen, both a complete mess with graffiti and broken furniture.

He went further up to the second floor. The steps creaking of old age and disuse.

The rooms were small and some still had metal bed frames in them. The smell of mould and mice droppings lay thick on the air due to the boarded up windows. Mice scurried around every where he went. Other than that the floor was empty.

The smells were less strong on the third floor which was mostly due to the windows being broken. It was also empty, if you didn't count the mice.

One room had a metal framed bed with a folded mattress beside it. He unfolded it, shook it and lay it down on the bed. Sitting down carefully the bed creakingly took his weight. The window in the room was mostly in tact safe for a hole at the top. A flimsy curtain partially covered it. It was perfect for now.

He examined his good arm and notice that the pain was a lot less. The same with the pain in his leg and a dozen other places were dulling too.

He swung his legs up on the bed and lay down. He fell asleep instantly.

His sleep was fitful and the dreams seemed to be images and pictures too surreal to make sense of. He woke up and sat up to shake the dream images out of his head. It was dark outside and he needed to take a piss.

The toilet in his room was missing so he ventured out in the pitch black hallway. He stretched out his good arm to touch the wall to be able to tell when he came upon the next room to see if it had a toilet.

He let his fingers drag over the peeling wallpaper. The exposed drywall. The timber frames. The feeling was extraordinary and so pure he walked past the first few door frames his fingers found. He was conscious that the feeling was of his own experience. Rather than the numb feeling of being desensitised. The dark enhance the good feeling and he wanted to let it go just yet.

After walking past five rooms the call of nature won and the next room thankfully had a toilet. He was close to excitement when he could run his fingers along the wall again on the way back to his room. With his right arm stretched in front of his body to touch the wall he made it back all be it slowly to take it all in.

When he sat back down on the bed he looked back on the events of the day. He took his good hand in his metal one and rubbed it absent minded.

His mission had failed. The target was still alive.

He had failed.

He needed to finish it.

 _No...no, I knew him_.

Finish the mission.

_Yes._

_No._

I will have to complete this mission.

_No. Why must it be completed?_

_Wasn't he the man on the bridge?_

_I knew him, right?_

_What?_

Mission not completed.

"Aaaaaaarrrrrggghhhhhhhh," he shouted and threw one of his knives in the wall opposite him. Breathing heavy he looked around to see his room in the moonlight and no one else was there. A loud bang outside brought him back to what was happening now.

Lunging for the knife in the wall he yanked it out and crouched in the corner of the room, knife at the ready.

Every sense was heightened.

The only sound he could hear was the scurrying of mice.

He didn't feel like the threat was gone so he needed to make sure that the hotel was still secure.

He methodically searched all floors, rooms, and closets.

By the time he was done light was coming in through the cracks in the boarding. Upon returning to his room he was still on high alert. The adrenaline surging making it impossible to rest let alone sleep. He crouched in the darkest corner of the room to have an advantage if anyone did come. His mind was racing with possibilities to take them out.

Sleep and fatigue must have overcome him. He jerked awake from a strange dream he was having. Something about reading comics with a friend on couch cushions on a floor, somewhere. The friend was a weedy kid who had a wheezy kind of laugh. The kid's face was still contorted in a laugh, but seemed to get further away. While he, himself, sank away in the cushions trying to stop from falling.

_Steve..._

_Steve?_

_Yeah that sounds right._

_Steve._

He stretched to reduce the stiffness in his limbs after carefully getting up. It was still daylight but he had no clue what time it was, but his stomach was rumbling. He needed to go out to get something to eat, but where? Not only that he had no money, was dressed in his Hydra get up and, if the mirror was anything to go on, looked like a zombie.

He was fucked.

He made a mental check list:

-clean up/shower

-different clothes

-food

Not necessarily in that order.

Right, he could do this. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten away from his handlers. In fact it was the third time.

The first time was only short lived, but the second time had lasted longer. He knew he could do this.

As he went outside he looked out for threats around each corner and in each alleyway. He morphed into his assassin mode. One thing at a time and always alert. HE could take them on. There was no way he was going back now. He felt alive in a way he never really had before.

Crooked lamppost. Fire hydrant with a blue flag. White car on cylinder blocks. He memorised these landmarks to make sure he could find his way back to the hotel. Every intersection was checked to make sure he wasn't followed.

After a couple of blocks he saw two people arguing at a trash container. As he came closer the two appeared to be homeless men. They had found clothes in a bag and were arguing over who left with what item. He walked past them, but changed his mind because clothes were on his check list. Walking back he seized them up, yeah he could take them easily. When they noticed him they did the same and the taller of the two decided he could try to take him. He got two knives out with a flourish. The tall man decided that he wasn't good enough to take him on and ran after his friend. He tossed the clothes on the ground while he ran.

He smiled to himself, this was easy. It must be the only perk to looking like a zombie. He picked out a pair of jeans, denim jacket, shirt, and baseball cap; seemingly clean. There was a shopping bag in the trash too that didn't smell too bad. He took all the items with him and changed in an alley behind some containers with his knives near at hand. He stuffed his own clothes in the shopping bag and set out. He scratched clothes from his mental check list.

Memories about the last time he had escaped his handlers were rising through the fog in his brain. There had been a homeless shelter that served food and allowed people to spend the night there.

He walked around aimlessly. He found a shopping street where a man with a collection can was trying to collect for an animal shelter.

"Do you know a homeless shelter nearby?" he asked gruffly. The man appeared to be taken aback but quickly recovered and directed him to a shelter a few blocks away.

"Thank you," he said and he meant it.

When he arrived there was a long line of people already there. Men, women, and children in a semi organized line. The shelter was going to open in an hour so he decided to get in line to make sure he at least stood a chance of getting in.

_Till the end of the line. I'll be with you,_ _ti_ _ll the end of the line._

When the shelter opened the crowd started to move and so did the shoving and pushing. Children started to cry, men started to yell and women started to yell back. Chaos.

There were a few broad shouldered guards who tried to control the crowd by making several threats. Eventually the crowd calmed down and dispersed in the large hall. When he walked in hesitantly a nun approached him.

"Don't be shy. It's hard for everyone the first time they come here. But we're all friendly folk," she said as she sidled up to him and pushed him further inside.

As if on cue two women started fighting and two guards ended it and shoved the women out. It had happened so fast that when the nun said, "Well, mostly friendly folks."

She magically produced a tray with food and gave it to him. While she pushed him towards one or the long tables where people were sitting. There were several people who got up to look for another place to eat when the nun sat down across from him.

_Oh, shit._

"My name is Sister Rebecca. What's your name?"

He hesitated and tried to hide it by shoving a heap of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

_What had his target called him again?_

_B...ucky? Yeah, something like that._

"Bucky," he said out loud.

That seemed to please the Sister. She went on explaining; opening hours, health care availability, services, and so on.

He was only half listening.

_Rebecca..._

_It sounded familiar like so many things and similarly not something I can make sense of. At the moment._

When he looked up he saw Sister Rebecca look at him inquisitively.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he tried.

"I'm sorry, what did you say, Sister Rebecca?" she parroted putting heavy emphasis the last two words.

_Right, understood._

"Do you need a wash? The bathrooms are in there," she went on slightly annoyed. She pointed to the door with the word 'bathroom' on it.

"Yes, I do. Thank you for pointing them out, Sister Rebecca," he replied sweetly.

_I could take her._

_Why am I being so polite? What is wrong with me?_

"Come and see me after you are done. In the meantime, I'll get you some soap and a towel."

"Yes, Sister Rebecca, I will."

_I hate myself, but I need a shower. After that I'm never coming here again._

After the shower, he better and reported back to Sister Rebecca who deemed him clean enough to leave.

_Vigilance. I need to remain vigilant. if I don't they will find me like the previous times._

_Previous times?_

His mind was so jumbled it seemed to pull random thoughts and memories out of a top hat. It went 'tadaa' as if it had performed a miracle.

He checked every intersection and recalled all his landmarks he'd remembered.

The hotel was still only occupied with mice. Satisfied he lay down on his bed on the third floor.  


 

The next morning he did a workout to wake up and because he felt stiff from the bed he had been sleeping on. He needed to do something because he was getting bored.

_Work, I need some kind of work to do._

He went outside looking over his shoulder at every chance. No one seemed to be on his tail, yet.

_How long is that going to last?_

There was a junkyard called Woody's. A man called Larry said he needed help with some cars that needed to have all fluids and gas tanks removed. Pay depended on how well he did. Larry showed him where to find tools and the cars. Afterward, Larry said he had important stuff to do in the office and didn't emerge from it for the rest of the day.

He gave it as good as he had and at the end of the day Larry reluctantly inspected the seven cars.

"Well, thanks and goodbye!, Larry said before walking off.

"What about my pay?"

"Nah, ya not gettin any," Larry said with a grin on his face.

The grin vanished from Larry's face when he saw the metal arm glinting in the sun.

"Pay. Now."

"Yeah, sure thing," Larry exclaimed before running into the office.

_50 dollars, not bad._

Larry had been scared shitless and probably regretted giving him so much.

He grinned to himself. There was an ease in how he approached people that he was unfamiliar with. He liked it nonetheless.

He did have to find a new place that had work for him though. Seeing some lumber trucks pass by the next day, he asked one of the drives where he could find it. They had plenty of work. When they saw how he did everything seemingly effortlessly they were eager for him to come back.

The week flew by in the lumberyard. He ate at the shelter for the hot meals and mute company of other people. Yet, he did carefully avoid Sister Rebecca. Sleep came easy after a day of work.

With the pay he got at the end of the day he bought some basics such as underwear and socks. Sister Rebecca had supplied a change of clothes.

_Thank you, Sister Rebecca._

 

On Friday evening he saw a newspaper on a reading table in the hall of the shelter. Leafing through is he saw an advert that made his heart almost stop.

_All New Captain America exhibit open now at the Smithsonian._

_What?_

_My mission._

_What?_

He looked at the date on top of the page; Friday October 28, 2011.

Sister Rebecca, who was making her rounds, saw him and sat down opposite him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes, I am. I was confused by the date on the paper, Sister Rebecca."

"We should really toss those old papers out. But how are you doing? You look better," she said changing the subject back around.

_Time to play along and ply her a little before asking her a question._

"I'm good. The food here is good, Sister Rebecca," he said with a large smile on his face.

"Well, we do our best."

"Sister Rebecca, where is the Smithsonian?" he asked quietly.

So much for plying her, he was impatient.

"Smithsonian? What on earth do you want to do there?" she said looking looked confused.

"I heard so many good things about it and I thought I'd go this weekend," he explained.

"Sister Rebecca," he added quickly.

She explained how he could get there, how much it cost and if he was sure.

"Yes," he said firmly, "positively, Sister Rebecca."

_Sister Rebecca, such a treasure trove of information._

  


_This doesn't make any sense._

_Yet it explains so much._

_I'm losing my mind_

_Lies! No! Oh, god..._

How he had made it back from the museum to the hotel was a blur. He was mad and he took it out on one of the lobby walls. He didn't care about being found at the moment.

After beating most of the drywall to a pulp, he slid down the rest of the wall and felt defeated. He wanted to forget, not think but he knew that drinking didn't work for him.

_Knew how?_

_Dammit!_

He went up to the room he was staying in. He understood now why Hydra kept him on ice with his mind wiped and focused on the job when he was out of the ice. He didn't remember much of his missions. The wiping must have been effecting his short term memory for the most part. His long term memory was a jumbled mess, but the memories were still in there somewhere. The exhibit felt like a bully laughing at his victim. He had been kicked and punched but for what reason? It didn't make sense to him. He didn't want to make sense of it either, afraid of what it might lead to.

_Lies, so many of them._

_Or rather omissions of the truth._

_What was the truth? Bucky._

_James Buchanan Barnes, Howling Commando and childhood friend of Steve Rogers. Captain America. My target, my mission, my friend?_

_Barnes disappeared on a mission and was presumed dead in 1944. Barnes was born in 1917, so he was 27 when he disappeared._

Images of a doctor and being dragged away in the snow flashed through his mind. He looked at his arm, the metal one.

_I lost my arm in what? How?_

He had taken a flyer with information about the exhibit with him. In it was a picture of Barnes. He had seen the pictures of Barnes at the exhibit but he thought they were a trick his mind played on him.

Two rooms down was a mirror that was still intact. He had shaven himself that morning and tied his hair back like he did at work. Barnes had short hair in the picture and it seemed important to tie his hair back for that reason. He opened the flyer to the picture of Barnes and turned it around so Barnes was looking in the mirror too.

There was no denying that they indeed looked alike but in the mirror seeing it side by side was a confirmation. No denying even to himself any more.

"I..am..James...Buchanan...Barnes...," he whispered tentatively to the mirror.

_No._

_Childhood friend of Steve Rogers. Captain America._

_No._

_Mission target._

_No._

He sunk to his knees still holding the flyer. He didn't want to be Barnes.

_Why not? The guy seemed like a nice guy in the pictures and videos that they showed at the exhibit. If you need to be anyone why not Barnes. I've already taken his nickname...Bucky._

He sighed deeply and got up from the floor. Back in his own room he sat down on the bed. Thinking back on the dream he had about laying on the floor with a friend reading comics.

_Steve, his name was Steve, the wheezy weedy kid._

He remembered seeing the before and after pictures at the exhibit of Captain America. There was such a world of difference. He thought of the weedy kid.

_Yeah I could be friends with someone like that. The big guy, Captain America, was another story. It didn't seem to fit. He was my target, what did they tell me about him? He was a threat, to them. But on the bridge and on board of the carrier, there was recognition. I mean, he didn't even want to fight. He said he'd be with me until the end of the line. Whatever that meant. It did mean something._

_To Hydra I was the Winter Soldier, or so they said among themselves when they thought I couldn't hear._

_Winter Soldier._

_Cold, hard, unfeeling, follower, duty..._

_It fit, but there was more then that. The memory flashes that they didn't want me to see so they wiped me. That must have been the reason._

_If I had remembered then I don't know what I would have done to them. To me..they would have contained me and punished me, hard._

_Not that I'd remember, but they would. Shit, was the arm punishment? This not knowing how to connect the dots and memory flashes is a nightmare._

He got up and made himself a stack of peanut butter sandwiches. He needed to distract himself and he was hungry. After eating his way through half a loaf, he drank some soda to wash it all down. Laying down on the bed he closed his eyes.

  


He woke up to the sound of footsteps. He wanted to move and protect himself but he felt like he was moving through molasses. Every movement seemed slowed down. He looked at the door opening because the footsteps slowly came nearer. Sister Rebecca appeared and seemed to debate whether to come in.

"I hope I gave you enough sedative. Sometimes it's hard to get the dosage right for big guys like you. Even though you are not whole." she laughed, but it sounded uncertain even in his drug haze.

"I had to bide my time," she continued,"and make sure you trusted me. When you mentioned the Smithsonian I knew I couldn't wait any longer. The boys will be here soon for you, don't worry. Ah, the Smithsonian, it may be big, but I knew you would want to see the Captain America exhibit."

"You are so predictable," she mused and leaned forward to pat his arm.

_Her mistake._

His training kicked in despite of the sedative. He grabbed her hand, twisted it back and in a surprisingly swift motion he got off the bed. He pinned her arm behind her back on the bed. He was still a little shaky, but his body weight helped him to keep the struggling Sister where she was. He put his good arm around her neck and said to her,"time for you to go to sleep for a bit." After letting her go, he moved the rest of her body onto the bed the best he could. He was in no state to fight. Whoever she had contacted, he was certain they were Hydra. And that meant highly trained killers.

The stairs were a challenge. He made it downstairs in time to hear cars stopping with shrieking brakes. There was a door next to the office. It lead to the basement where supplies had been kept. There was a loading door that led to the backstreet. He clumsily snuck out and circled the building to see the men enter armed to the teeth.

His metabolism was working fast and he could feel the drug wearing off already. He ran down to the lumberyard. There were trucks there that would go down to the docks to pick up the lumber. These ships always needed crew he was told and sailed to Canada and sometimes even Europe. It was his best bet to evade Hydra.

  


***

He sailed on every type of ship that would hire him. Mostly he got good references of the ship captains, who were sad to see such a good hand go. That also meant that he left a trace.

  


***

His memory came back and more flashes he had seen before started to make sense. He remembered Rebecca, one of his sisters, his parents, his job on the docks in New York. And memories of being friends with Steve as kids. Being captured in Germany. What Zola had done to him trying to turn him into a super soldier made him feel heavy-hearted. The fact that he was rescued by Steve, all muscle, was something he still found hard. One night he visited a bar in Split with his, now extremely drunk, shipmates. He was musing over all the memories that had come back, mostly about Steve and the war. The was that was so long ago yet for him it was like it was only last year.

_He was not the same as the kid I'd left behind in New York. It was so weird him being in charge. All I could see was a scrawny wheezy kid that picked fights with people bigger than him. HE was still doing that but now he was putting lives of others on the line too. He wasn't even officially a Captain! No, the Steve I knew wasn't this Captain America. The longer I served under him I could sense he was so different. Suddenly, I was the one that needed protection. He could handle himself because of that serum. And then I fell of the train..._

_I don't blame Steve. I still may not know much about what happened when Hydra found me and handed me back to Zola, but it was my fault I fell. I let go because I couldn't live with myself and the changed relationship. The irony is that Zola and Hydra turned me into a copy of Steve. They wanted a super soldier of their own. Who better than Captain America's childhood friend!_

_The scientists had said that all that was in me already in strength and cunning would be enhanced. Did they enhance my hatred of what I had become too? Is that what made me such a good soldier? That could hate? That I would do what ever they wanted me to because I hated myself and wanted to do right by others? They wiped my memories before putting me back on ice, but that was faulty at best. Still they hunt me, their greatest prize, their greatest toy. Meanwhile I'm haunted by what I have done to myself and others. And Steve..._

_Little Steve fighting people bigger than him, who needed my help like I needed his friendship. Where did we go wrong? He is helping people now but in a sense he is still fighting a war. Here I am running away from the fight, my fight with Hydra. I don't have the stones that little Steve had since he was young. I was one that showed up after he had tired them out to give them their final kick. I never started the fight. I ended it._

_They were better off without me. The Howling Commandos went in in the heat of battle. I felt like it was never going to end. The battle raged on and I could not do anything about it. Hydra used that because they only sent me in when they needed it put to an end._

He sighed and got up from the bar and threw 20 kuna on the bar to pay for a drink he had hardly touched all night. He walked out of the bar and pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders. He made his way to the shabby hotel he was staying in.

The foghorn sounded to warn passing ships. Suddenly, he had a bag thrown over his head and felt a needle being jammed into in his neck. He wanted to fight, but whatever they had given him incapacitated him quickly.

When he woke up he became aware that who ever has holding him had beaten him while he was unconscious. The pain was dull so some time had past. It still hurt to move. His metal arm was in some kind of vice and when he tried to get it loose it hurt. It was like the arm was short circuited when he moved it. He had never felt anything like it before.

A man moved into sight and knelt down. He wore a mask with bones crossed on it. The man removed the mask to show he had bad burn scares on his face.

"Remember me?" he asked.

_Who was he? Yeah, I remember but I don't know..._

"Well, I have changed a bit since you last saw me. Thanks to your friend Captain America," he laughed, but it came out hoarse. His face was horribly contorted.

"Rumlow, you're Rumlow?" he asked.

"Gold star for the Winter Soldier!" Rumlow said mockingly.

"What do you want, Rumlow?"

"To use you as bait, what else are you good for now?" Rumlow leaned in as he said this,"you are not getting away now."

Rumlow got up and walked away with something that resembled a smirk on his face before putting his mask back on.

"I'll be back. I'm not done with you," he yelled as he walked out of the building into the light.

A Hydra henchman came up to him and jammed another needle in his neck. Unconsciousness was something he preferred now.

_Biding my time._

  


There was fighting going on outside. He assumed it was Rumlow practicing for whoever was going to take the bait. Yet, when his guards suddenly made it for the door, he assumed someone had taken the bait and had come in full force. Drifting in and out of consciousness he hadn't notice it had gone quiet outside. When the door opened and two men came, he lifted his head to see.

They weren't part of Rumlow's crew, because they didn't have combat gear on. As they came nearer he could hear them whisper to one another. One of them was a tall blond guy. The other, a shorter black guy, seemed to try to calm the tall one.

  


"Help me."

  


  
  



End file.
